


A Taste of A Poison Paradise

by halfsweet



Series: Unfinished D/s AU [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Blindfolds, Dom/sub, Flogging, Impact Play, Light Angst, M/M, Safewords, Subspace, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 07:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11143470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfsweet/pseuds/halfsweet
Summary: "Can we- now-" Patrick pleads quietly, his words jumbled together as his fingers cling onto the fabric of Brendon's shirt. His mind is just bursting and exploding with everything ranging from Ashlee's pregnancy to the bad reception of their album. He needs an escape from them all, and he needs it now. "I need- heavy. I want a heavy play. Please."





	A Taste of A Poison Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is set way before the previous one
> 
> title from Toxic by Britney Spears. enjoy!

"Can we- now-" Patrick pleads quietly, his words jumbled together as his fingers cling onto the fabric of Brendon's shirt. His mind is just bursting and exploding with everything ranging from Ashlee's pregnancy to the bad reception of their album. He needs an escape from them all, and he needs it now. "I need- heavy. I want a heavy play. Please."

Brendon's body goes taut under him, his fingers digging deep into his pale skin. He squeezes his eyes shut as he begs again. "Please, Brendon. I really need this. I need-"

"No." Brendon cuts him off with a firm voice, and it makes Patrick shrink slightly into his headspace.

"Sir, please—"

"I said no." Brendon repeats himself in the same tone. "We are not jumping straight into heavy play when we've never done anything close to it before. And you need days of preparation—"

A desperate whine escapes his lips, and he tugs on Brendon's shirt again. "I can handle it. Just- please. I- I'll be fine."

"Patrick." Brendon's hand moves to his hair and tugs on it, nothing harsh, but it makes him fall deeper into his headspace. It's still not enough, though. He wants to go deeper, and the only way he can get there is through a heavy play, _but why won't Brendon agree to do it?_

"I'm not going to repeat myself again." Patrick almost sobs at being denied, but hope starts to sprout in his chest when Brendon continues. "But if you really want one, then we'll do it in our next session."

"Yes. Yes- please-" Patrick chokes out in desperation, relieved that he now has something to look forward to if his head is being a mess again. But he still needs something—anything— _now._

"You have to promise to be good and take care of yourself in the meantime. Take your supplements. Is that clear?"

Anything. Oh, God, _he'll do anything for it._

Brendon tugs on his hair again. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir." Patrick answers, his voice quiet. He tries to even out his breathing, tries to forget why he's there in the first place, but it doesn't work.

_"Folie is the worst album Fall Out Boy has ever made."_

_"Your album sucks! You guys are nothing but a bunch of sell-outs!"_

_"You look gross fat. Cut some weight. Better yet, just drop dead."_

He lets out a whimper when his hair is tugged harshly, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"We'll just do our regular play today."

Patrick sucks in a breath and nods obediently, thankful that the Dom doesn't leave him high and dry when he's this desperate for an escape.

"Yes, Sir."

-

It’s not until a month later that Brendon informs him that he’s ready for a heavy play. He himself has been long prepared for it, and he knows for a fact that during that one month, Brendon has been contacting and asking the other Doms at the club for advice and guidance.

It makes his chest flutter with a strange feeling at the thought of Brendon going this far just for him, but he quickly pushes it out of his mind. They’re not exclusive, and they didn’t sign any contracts with each other. Brendon’s just doing it for himself—in fact, he’d probably practiced a few scenes with the professional subs at the club.

Besides, he’s pretty sure he’s not the only sub Brendon’s ever played scenes with.

Shaking his head, he focuses his attention back to what’s currently happening in the playroom they rent for the night. He takes in a deep breath when he doesn't feel the flat surface of the stool under his feet anymore, so now he's left hanging and suspended on the overhead bars with only his wrists supporting him.

"You okay?" Brendon's smooth voice whispers next to his ear, his warm hand cradling his face gently.

Patrick leans into the comforting touch, savouring and cherishing it, because he knows he won't get any contact like it anytime soon. "Yes, Sir."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, so does Brendon's hand, and he tilts his head, searching for the Dom in the darkness. He's always been a little reluctant about being blindfolded. When it's dark, the voice in his head will start spewing words after words that leaves his self-esteem and confidence crumbling like a house of cards blown away by a small gust of wind.

But he trusts Brendon. The last time Brendon put a blindfold on him, he managed to make the voice go away altogether. At least, during the entire duration of the scene.

It was the first time that he didn't hear any voices in the dark.

"I'm here. I won't leave you alone." Brendon assures him, his voice gentle, but it still has that firmness whenever he's in his headspace. "Just focus on your breathing. I'm here."

He follows what Brendon is saying, and he inhales deeply, relaxing his muscles. Brendon hasn't touched him yet, but he can feel his presence in front of him, watching him. Waiting.

When his breathing finally slows down into a rhythm, Brendon starts to move away from him. Not more than ten seconds later, Brendon is back in front of him, tracing his face lightly before letting his finger linger just above his lips, leaving behind a slight wet and cold feeling. His nose crinkles as a familiar yet bold scent enters his nostrils.

_Brendon's cologne._

"Stay still."

With the cologne Brendon just swiped under his nose, he now finds it difficult—almost borderline impossible— to smell and pinpoint the Dom's location. He breathes in deep, trying not to let panic fill his chest. He doesn't like not knowing. It makes him feel vulnerable. Like anything can happen to him, and he has no choice but to take it. No way of defending himself.

He can't move. Can't see anything. Can't tell if Brendon's there. Can't tell if Brendon's the _only_ one there.

Completely vulnerable.

Completely helpless.

Completely alone.

_Just like how you always are._

"Breathe."

Patrick jolts at the voice and the hands on his face, and he finally realizes that he's breathing fast— _too_ fast—and that his whole body is tense. He regulates his breathing back to its previous slow rhythm, and after almost a minute, he finally calms down, the chains making a rattling noise as his body falls lax.

"We can stop now if you want to."

He shakes his head. He wants this. He asked for this. Hell, he _begged_ for this. He refuses to back down just because of a small freak out.

"Safeword?"

"Chicago." He answers.

"Use it if you need to, alright?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. We'll start now."

Patrick inhales deeply before nodding. "Yes, Sir."

There's almost no movement, nothing, from the Dom, until he feels a light thud on the back of his thigh. He gasps at the sudden impact, then relaxes again, waiting for the next one.

He counts in his head, and once he reaches four, the leathery feeling from presumably a flogger hits his back. He breathes out, slowly, and starts counting again. Eventually, he manages to find the rhythm that Brendon has set, although he still can't figure out the pattern where the flogger will hit him next. It's all random, but he knows that Brendon only hits at certain places; his ass, thighs, his back, and occasionally, his calves and chest.

One. Two. Three. Four.

_Thud._

One. Two. Three. Four.

_Thud._

One. Two. Three. Four.

_Thud._

The action goes on for some time, always at the same pace, and he lost count after twenty. He tilts his head in question when he doesn't feel anymore thud.

"How are you feeling?"

Chill runs down his spine when Brendon gently rubs his back. He licks his lip. "I'm fine, Sir."

"Do you want to keep the pace or make it heavier?"

"Make it heavier, please."

He feels Brendon's hand massaging his fingers, then it slides down to his palm, squeezing lightly twice, and he squeezes back, twice. "Good. Safeword?"

"Chicago."

The next part of the scene starts with a dull, heavier thud against his ass, although not too heavy that it can cause a bruise. He squirms a little when the next one hits the inside of his thigh.

"Stay still."

Brendon continues to hit him with the flogger with the same rhythm. He's gotten used to the sensation, but Brendon alternates the heavy thuds with light ones, making everything unpredictable to him, but he still enjoys them, nonetheless.

After what seems like an eternity to him, he's suddenly struck with a harder thud, and he moans out at the feeling, pain and pleasure mixing together.

"How are you feeling?"

A soft sigh escapes him, and he nods. "I- I'm good."

"Do you need anything? Water?"

Subspace. That's what he needs. "No, Sir."

"Are you ready to continue?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Safeword?"

"Chicago."

The intensity increases from that point on. There are a few intense ones, and he loves those. The masochistic side in him screams for more, wanting harder strikes that can leave bruises the second they hit his skin, but he knows he has to play by Brendon's rule.

He cries out in pleasure when the flogger hits him hard. This time, he knows for sure it will leave a bruise. It feels so good that he can't help but cry out again and again with each incoming strike. He slumps forward, panting slightly, when Brendon finally stops.

"How are you feeling?"

Patrick gives a low moan in answer, too drunk on the feeling of endorphin coursing through his body to answer properly.

"You're doing so good. Just a little more, okay?"

He moans again and nods. It takes him a few strikes in to realize that Brendon has switched out the flogger for something else that gives a sharp sting. It may be a whip, it may also be a belt, but he doesn't care. All he cares about is that he's closer to reaching subspace, and he can't wait for when the moment comes.

The strikes are getting harder, sharper, and triple the previous intensity, and they push him deeper and deeper into his headspace. He finds himself eager for the next strike just so he can reach the space.

"-word?"

He lifts his head, letting out a guttural groan. There's something squeezing on his palm, and he weakly reaches for it, squeezing back. Once. Twice.

Another strike lands on his back, just below his shoulder blade. He jerks from the sensation, moaning long and deep, and his body falls limp as he finally, _finally_ reaches that safe haven.

It's _beautiful._ He lies on his back on the soft grass, breathing out a soft laugh and looking up at the light blue sky with pure white clouds floating by, pushed by the gentle breeze. He tilts his head to the side, and his eyes crinkle with a serene smile when the grass beneath starts to sprout colourful flowers surrounding him. Daisies. Tulips. Baby's breath. There are all kinds of flowers blooming across the grassy hill. A small gasp escapes him when the clouds come down and wrap around him, lifting him up above. He laughs as he floats in the sky, drinking in the breathtaking view below him.

He distinctly hears a voice calling for him, but this place is too good to leave. He's been waiting for this moment since a month ago. He floats around aimlessly—content. Free. Blissful.

_Peaceful._

And he never wants to leave.

-

He's still feeling the high when he wakes up. He sighs as he curls into himself, shivering and pulling the blanket to his chest. He doesn't know how he ended up on the bed with a clean shirt and a clean pair of boxers with a warm blanket wrapped around him. Warm _er_ with a pair of arms around him.

"Hey, it's okay." Brendon whispers softly against his hair. "I'm here. I'm still here. I’m not going to leave."

He burrows closer into the younger man's chest, loving the warmth and the scent radiating off of him. "Thank you."

Brendon huffs out a small chuckle. “It was good, then? Not too rough?”

Brendon’s fingers run over his back, making him shudder at the sensation. He’s pretty sure that there are marks all over his body, especially on his back. Frankly, if his limbs weren’t too heavy to move, he’d already walk across the room to check out the marks.

“It was exactly what I wanted.” He looks up at Brendon with a small, grateful smile, to which he gets a bright one in return. “My wrists hurt, though. Maybe we should try a different pair of cuffs next time.”

“Of course.” Brendon nods, still beaming proudly, and Patrick can’t help but laugh at the sight. Brendon really is adorable; it’s like he’s a complete different person than he was when they were playing scenes together.

Maybe Brendon has an identical twin, who knows.

“Get some rest, alright, Trick? I’ll go get you some oil for your wrists and back.” Brendon gives him a squeeze before he leaves the bed in search of the item. Patrick smiles one last time as his eyelids grow heavy, all his problems seemingly cease to exist in his head.

For now.

**Author's Note:**

> I have like 2 more scenes in this unfinished fic so watch out for those


End file.
